White Russian
by SurealInnuendo
Summary: A certain Russian refuses to cope with his past and tries to hide behind his icy fassade. But just how long can he keep it up? Rated M for a reason.
1. Prologue

Hello and good day, dear reader.

First and foremost, thank you for picking my story. I sincerely hope you enjoy it!

Secondly I'd like to place a disclaimer:  
I do not own any characters or the manga/anime Beyblade. All belongs to their respective owners. I solely claim ownership of the plot, the idea and whatever characters I create and decide to include in later chapters.

As always, the author doesn't create the story, but simply allows it to unfold.

I'd be happy to receive any kind of feedback as this story is a work in progress.

And now without further ado - enjoy reading.

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Prologue:

Numbness. He dared not to move a single muscle, let alone make a sound. Had he been able to, he would have stopped breathing. Hiding in the shadows, he pressed his back against the cold wall, praying his grandfather wouldn't catch him out of bed at this late hour.. If he did, the consequences would be severe.

The young boy closed his eyes. It wasn't so much the beating he would receive that terrified him, but he was terribly afraid of the dark room in the dungeons of the abbey in which he had to spend the night whenever his grandfather, or his coach for that matter, were dissatisfied with either his behavior or his discipline, which others would describe as impeccable. However, that often just wasn't good enough.  
His mouth went dry as he decided to peek around the corner, longing for his bed and cursing himself for even getting out of it in the first place. Just as he figured the path was clear and he convinced his feet to move forward across the corridor, he froze in terror.

"What are we doing out of bed at this time of night Kai?"  
His heart threatened to jump out of his chest as he turned his head to face Boris, his trainer and the source of his nightmares. The older gazed down on the boy, the anger written all over his face.

Before the greyhaired boy could even answer, he earned a backhanded slap across the face, sending him flying down the corridor. He didn't speak, however he couldn't help raising his head from the ground, trying to ignore the pain in his cheek and shot a defiant glare at the purple haired man standing just a few feet from him.

Kai's ruby coloured eyes met the stone cold irises of his trainer as the latter approached the boy. He didn't flinch as Balkov's boot met his ribcage forcefully and struggled to keep himself from groaning in pain. He wouldn't let him humiliate him. Even if he had to wait years, he would get back at him for his. He would free himself from his chains, and destroy this place, the young russian promised himself as Boris grabbed him and dragged him along the corridor and down the stairs.  
He wouldn't give in, he wouldn't let him break his will. He would learn what he had to, and escape Balkov Abbey soon. And he's finally be free to do as he pleased. Free to laugh and joke as he wished.

When Boris locked the door to the dark dungeon cell, he crawled into the far corner and pulled his legs up against his body. Soon this would end. He just had to stay strong a little longer. And never would he let them take his pride. His emotions they may lock away behind an ice cold fassade but they would never break him.

Or so he thought.

He had no idea, just how long it would take for those wounds to heal.

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To be continued. Feel free to let me know what you think.

Yours,

Surreal Innuendo


	2. Chapter 1

As usual, I don't own anything.

I realise that it's quite short, however that counts only for this chapter. I'm testing the waters before jumping into full length chapters.

So enjoy!

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Chapter 1:

Soaked from his own sweat and panting heavily Kai jolted into an upright sitting position. He could feel his own sweat dripping from his back and forehead and panted heavily. Resting his head on his knee, he closed his eyes, banishing the nightmare that still clung to him even now that he was awake.

He shot a look at the alarm clock on the night-stand. Not even close to daybreak yet.

Still slightly intoxicated from the numerous White Russians he had been downing earlier, he stole a glance of the person lying next to him. However, he wasn't sure he remembered her name. Or whether he had ever known it in the first place. This was the most likely scenario. What he did remember though, was that they'd met in a bar, and not two hours later, she had been lying beneath him on the silk sheets of his bed.  
He let his gaze wander over the naked figure of his guest. Pale skin, fiery red hair and a body to kill for. And what she had done with that body.  
A smirk crawled onto his lips as he conjured up the memory of what he had done to her. The way she had let him take her over the brink of what she had thought humanly possible over and over again.

He was a considerate lover, passionate, rough, dominant but he never just took. He loved to send his partners quivering and squirming into ecstasy. He liked the way they moaned his name and clung on to dear life. But anyway, he didn't think this night any more special than any other. It was just a night like any other in the Russians life. And as usual he didn't care who she was, where she was from or what she liked and didn't like. And she knew. Just like they all did. He made a point of being sure the women he brought back to his apartment understood that it was all just one night. He would make them feel just as good as they made him feel. And then, they would leave in the morning before he left the shower and none of them ever expected to see him again. Everything that was left was a hazy memory of smoke, vodka, faceless sex and the ruffled and stained silk sheets on his bed. He couldn't quite tell how long he had been keeping up this lifestyle. But no matter how hard he had struggled to quit, he found it impossible not to yield. He ached for those brief moments in which nothing mattered. In which he was just like every other messed up guy- In which he didn't think and in which his brain failed him. He needed his mind to cloud up. He needed to forget. And above all he needed not to remember.

Those brief moments of amnesia found in the ecstasy of sex was what he needed. Much like a crack addict aches for every next shot.  
The ruby eyed Russian let out a barely audible sigh before getting up, snatching a cigarette from his night-stand and walking over to the window, careful not to make a sound. The window was still open, allowing the cool night air to caress his face. For a brief moment, a flame lightened up his face as he lit his cigarette. Everyone usually nagged at him for smoking but what did he care? Wasn't like he was some kind of addict.

Behind him, the sheets ruffled and a silky voice cut through the silence.

"Stop sneaking around in the dark, come play."  
He smirked, flicking his fag end out the window before turning around to face the redhead.

Wordlessly he let her pull him onto her, pressing her warm body against his cooler skin. Another playful dance of strokes and kisses, moans and thrusts clouded his mind as he felt himself drawing closer and closer to ecstasy. Inch for inch, he ached for release. And as he went over the edge, he found nothing but bliss. Bliss followed by soothing darkness. And he let himself fall.

He found himself waking to the first signs of daylight feeling somewhat hungover. He never slept longer than dawn no matter how wasted he had been the night before.. Pulling himself into a sitting position, he nudged his guest in the ribs earning him an annoyed groan.

"Time for you to leave."

His voice had lost any trace of warmth or playfulness, leaving the impression that it had never been any such thing. As though he had changed completely by the break of dawn.

"I'm going to take a shower and I don't want to see you around here as soon as I get out.", he added, his tone icy. The redhead looked startled but dared not argue. He didn't waste another minute, carelessly leaving her there, continuing to the bathroom and stepped into the shower cabin and turned on the hot water. His blueish-silver hair soaked, he enjoyed the hot drops for a bit before turning off the warm water, replacing it with an icy steam. A couple of minutes later, he stepped out of the shower and wrapped a grey towel around his hips as he heard the door slam shut. After reclaiming the solitude in his apartment and letting daylight in through the windows, his routine took over. As usual he would drink a cup of jet black coffee and smoke a cigarette before getting dressed. And today was no exception. After putting on his stonewashed jeans and black tanktop, he slipped on the black boots and wrapped his signature white scarf around his neck and left his apartment to face a new day with the same people that didn't know squat about him and yet considered themselves his friends. And to be honest he didn't mind. He tolerated them with less annoyance than he did everyone else. Yet today was going to be somewhat different. A diabolic smile crept onto his else perfect pokerface as he thought of what he had in store for his team. They would wish they had never been born. He would make damn sure of that.


End file.
